The Spider and the Rose
by Dawnstorm101
Summary: DEFINITE HOMECOMING AND POTENTIAL AVENGERS 3 AND 4 SPOILERS WITHIN. Peter comes back from the battle against Thanos a tight-lipped, traumatized teen, and Michelle seeks to snap him out of it. As it's happening, Peter puts something together about Michelle's own secret past.


A/N: I cannot, for the life of me, write a pre-Infinity War fic about Peter. And this one takes place after Avengers 4. I don't even know my brain. But basically I read something about comic MJ's backstory and it hit me how perfect Peter/MJ is and, well, I had to write a fic, and this was the first idea that popped into my head. And MJ knows Peter is Spidey in this fic.

* * *

MJ, Aunt May, and Ned knew basically nothing about the big battle Peter had fought in a few months ago. They knew that he had been ecstatic beyond belief when Tony Stark summoned him, sending snaps of the other heroes with all-caps, heavily emojified comments while they were all meeting and discussing boring stuff. They knew that the battle happened after that. They knew that some people, most obviously Captain America and Iron Man, hadn't survived. And finally, most importantly, they knew that Peter had come back with a major case of PTSD.

Peter never explained why. He never explained _anything._ He even tried to pretend he didn't have it, but MJ could see it in his distant gaze, in the bags under his eyes, in the way he jumped at sudden noises. Ned could see it in the way he stopped obsessing over movies, stopped watching the clock for superhero time, stopped trying to stand up to Flash. Aunt May could see it in the way he picked at his meals, the way he crawled into her bed in the middle of the night and crept back to his own before she woke up, in the way his texting bill spiked with texts from concerned heroes.

It didn't take a genius to put two and two together. It did, apparently, take a genius to make Peter actually talk.

Luckily, that's exactly what MJ was.

One day after school, she cornered him. She grabbed his hand, dragged him outside, and stopped in the far corner of the deserted football field.

"Talk, Peter Parker," she ordered.

He looked down at their joined hands as if they hadn't been dating for months. "We do touchy-feely now?"

"You do," she replied, "but not lately. Now tell me why."

"I- I haven't been acting differently," he tried to lie, still just staring at their hands.

She pulled her hand free. "If you expect me to believe that, find yourself a new girlfriend," she threatened, beginning to walk away.

"No, wait!" he exclaimed desperately, grabbing for her hand. Their fingers caught and she let that stop her, but she didn't turn around, hiding the relief she knew showed on her face.

"Talk to me, Peter," she pressed.

"I… I can't," he rasped.

MJ pulled away again, hiding the hurt she tried not to feel. _I thought he trusted me._

"No, I mean I literally can't," Peter went on rapidly, his voice shaking.

MJ turned to him, confused. "What does that mean?"

"I- damn it," he mumbled, letting go of her to bury his face in his hands. "This happens," he said. "I start shaking and my heart starts pumping and I'm pretty sure this is a panic attack and I just can't- I can't- I-"

For once, MJ gave in to her touchy-feely impulse and swept Peter into a hug. He leaned into her, shaking like her own personal earthquake, gripping a fistful of her shirt and hiding his face in her shoulder. She turned them so her back was to the school, her extra height shielding him from potential prying eyes.

"Pull yourself together and let's go home."

-MCU-

Peter was simultaneously ecstatic and weirded out that MJ held him the entire ride home. Maybe not a full-blown hug, but she would hold his hand or wrap an arm around his shoulders, catch him when the train jolted and guide him around obstacles. Less surprisingly, she glared down anyone who dared look at him funny when he couldn't hold back a tear or a sniffle or even a full-blown sob. That sort of affection he was used to.

But he was glad to reach the safety of his apartment, even though MJ let go of him once they stepped into his room. He settled by his pillow, knees drawn to his chest, while she sat on his desk.

"Talk," she said after a moment, picking up a pencil to drum against her thigh. "I want the gory details."

Peter wanted to hide his face and speak into the darkness, but MJ's strength always seemed to give him strength, so he just looked over her shoulder. "You really don't."

"What did I say about protecting me, Peter?" MJ pushed, leaning forward a little.

"I'm not-" Peter tried to protest.

"Yes, you are, Parker," she cut him off. "You're doing that hero thing where you think hiding your trauma somehow makes everything better. Newsflash, it doesn't, so start talking."

Peter sighed and slid his legs down, resting a hand on his stomach. "I… I never should've-"

"If you're about to say you should have died out there-" MJ started.

Peter jerked his shirt up. "It's true."

MJ sucked in a breath and jumped off the desk, resting her fingers against his scarred abdomen before she could think better of it. "Oh my God," she breathed, her horror unchecked at the suddenness of the reveal.

"I died, MJ," he rasped. "I was stabbed and I bled out in Tony's arms and I _died._ "

Her fingers were tense against his scars, as if she wanted to pull away but couldn't. "How did you…?"

"Doctor Strange," Peter explained. "He used magic to fix it- me. It felt so weird, like a bad weird, and Tony hugged me so hard. And- and then-"

Peter bit his lip and grabbed MJ's hand, feeling his heart speed up. She clutched back, tearing herself away from his scars to do so. "And then?" she urged.

"And then I… I did what any Avenger would do," he mumbled. "I rejoined the fight. And…"

"Spill, Peter," she pressed gently.

"And then I screwed up!" Peter snapped, jerking his hand away from her. "I didn't see the hit coming, and Tony- Tony took it for me. And Strange wouldn't – couldn't – bring him back."

Comprehension swept over MJ's expression. "After all of that pain and terror, you're blaming yourself for his death."

"Who else is there to blame?" Peter demanded, shifting away from her. "I'm the one who didn't move fast enough."

"Did he say anything?" MJ asked. "Did he have any dying words?"

Peter flinched. He didn't even need to close his eyes to see the scene in perfect clarity – the flames, the broken metal, the blood on Tony's face and Peter's hands. "Yes."

"What were they?"

Peter looked away, feeling tears burning his eyes for the billionth time. "He told me I was the best son anyone could ever have."

"Well, there's your answer," MJ stated simply.

"What?" Peter said, looking back at her in confusion.

"'Who else is there to blame?'" she echoed.

"I… I don't follow."

"Stark, you idiot," she finally pointed out. "Sounds to me like he decided to die."

Peter shook his head. "But-"

"No," MJ interrupted firmly, crossing her arms as if daring him to contradict her. "Stark made the same decision any of us would make: to protect you. He, and whatever villain shot him, are the only people to blame. Not you."

"B-but-"

She gripped his shoulders. "People decide to do things, Peter. Those things cause other people pain. But _they_ are the ones who caused the pain, not whoever is experiencing the pain. Believe me, I know."

Peter saw the sense in her words. Really, he did. But the attempt he made to say that turned into a sob that opened the floodgates. He fumbled for the teddy bear a little girl had given him as thanks for saving her, needing to hug something but unsure if MJ would go for that.

Then she was pulling him to her, her grip gentler than he would've imagined from her. He cried into her shoulder and held onto her for sanity's sake, her strength a powerful anchor.

-MCU-

MJ held Peter as he cried. Her touch was light, awkward even, but he didn't seem to mind. He didn't even seem to notice. He just cried and held her, cried long enough that she might make fun of him if she didn't intimately understand the senseless guilt that drove him. "Tears are weakness," her father would always say as he used someone as a punching bag.

Peter stopped abruptly with a sniffle. "Wait, what do you mean 'Believe me, I know?'"

MJ tried to tug him back down, keep him from looking at her traitorous face. "Fictional characters," she tried to lie.

He wriggled away from her – curse his superstrength. "That's not it."

Damn it, how dare he look so concerned for _her_ while his eyes were red and puffy and his cheeks were soaked?

"That _is_ it, Parker," she insisted, trying to get up.

He grabbed her hand. "No, it isn't. You've always been tight-lipped, MJ – now it's your turn to open up."

She wanted nothing more than to pull away, but her hand wouldn't move. "I don't do touchy-feely."

Peter laughed mirthlessly, tapping her wet shirt. "The hell you don't. You can't be a Vulcan all the time, MJ."

"Let this go," she growled, shooting a glare at him.

Fear flashed across his face, but he held firm. "Tell me," he pressed.

MJ closed her eyes, unable to bear the inevitable pitying expression as she lifted up her own shirt, exposing the scar on her side. "He blamed me for the bottle being empty. You may have been through three fathers, but at least they were all good ones."

His fingertips brushed against her, light as a feather, but still she instinctively flinched away. Peter backed off instantly. "MJ…"

"Don't say it," she snapped, tugging her shirt back down.

"Fine," he agreed. "I won't say it."

Before she could protest, he cupped the side of her face and pulled her towards him to press a kiss to her cheek.

She couldn't bring herself to be mad at him.

"We're not getting over this overnight, or alone. You help me, and I help you," he proposed, taking his hand off her face.

MJ looked at him, at the genuineness shimmering in his red eyes and tiny smile. There was no pity there, nothing she had seen from every adult ever. He wasn't looking at her like she was a fragile butterfly. He looked at her like a rose, beautiful and gentle at heart but armed and ready to fight anyone who pressed the wrong way. And he was the spider who made a web around her, protecting his home but needing her shelter from the elements.

"Damn you," she murmured. "You're too perfect."

Peter laughed, for real this time. "So are you."

They reached in for a hug again, this one a mutual grip of comfort and pain. Peter's remaining tears were silent, while MJ shook and sobbed as much as she would let herself. They wrapped around each other, both somehow seeking to provide for and receive comfort from the other.

And somehow, it worked. May came home to find the duo fast asleep, wrapped in each other's arms, their foreheads tilted against each other, none of their fear and pain showing on their peaceful faces.


End file.
